Super Sam
by Overlord of Sarcasm
Summary: It was supposed to be a relatively normal hunt. There'd been a couple of unlucky deaths, and six families who had suddenly had a rash of good fortune. Probably just a coven of witches. Yes, Dean might hate them, but after a seemingly unending supply of apocalyptic disasters, a few witches should seem like a walk in the park, right? Wrong. Cross posted to AO3
1. Chapter 1

Killing them should have been easy. A couple of witch killing bullets, making sure to leave no witnesses... It should've been a piece of pie. But of course, nothing in their life could ever be simple, could it?

Dean was thrown against the wall. The youngest of the witches, a child, really, had bracelets to enhance strength, and boy, did they work. The girl couldn't have been more than thirteen at the most, but her mother had needed the blood of a virgin for a spell, and who better to use than her own daughter? So, the girl had been brought in on the secret. What was supposedly her mother's book club (A book club? Again? Really? Could they not be a little more creative?) was actually a coven of witches. Originally, it was just a way to be able to get a lucky break or two, but the young girl had quickly realized that it could be so much more than that, quickly corrupting what used to be the adult's gig. The days of good luck and petty revenge had quickly escalated into death and destruction, all while the families involved were thriving.

Back to the matter at hand though. Sam was still fighting, but Dean? Dean could barely move his eyes to look around, let alone the rest of his body, despite the fact that there was nothing physically holding him back. Dazed, he tried again to sit up. Still not working. He keeps fighting, but blackness soon takes over.

Sam is surrounded. Absolutely surrounded. What was supposed to only be six, maybe seven witches max, had turned into thirteen. Unlucky number thirteen. Huh, of course, just his luck. These bitches had included their children in the horrid practices, and while the youngest was only thirteen or so, that was still pretty messed up. They started chanting, chanting in a round. One or two witches would start the chant over at each sentence, leaving Sam confused over what he was hearing. The chanting seemed to surround him, blocking out all other sounds. Looking down, he tried to step away, but learned that he couldn't move. He was standing on some sort of large mat, disguised as a rug. It was obviously a type of amplifying or directing device. He tried to step off. He tried to break the chanting, by shooting at the witches, but to no avail. The gun was yanked from his hand, and a sense of immense dread soon replaced it. The ominous chanting lasted for several more minutes, with the last two minutes having Sam crouched low on the floor, covering his ears, trying to block out the sounds.

 _Non male dicentibus vobis, Sam Wynton '. Nos benedixerit tibi erit unhuman. Ex hac die altera a te et non esse plene humanus, et te et eris eis duabus creaturae quod tu es, qui maxime plene comprehendunt. Maledicimus vos utraque nummus tenebris lucem. Vos a die autem illa duo animalia per quos magicae videbitur tibi retro maledicere. Dum venator tu nunc una quae ad scopum. Non enim shapeshifter non versipellem esse, non Skinwalker, sed aliquid aliud. Data est nobis in qua potestate non est creaturae non erit, ut commodo, magna relati, maledicetur in illo sentire quod non sit ultra habeas super eis et benedictionem. Et maledic ei, ad intellectum, sed etiam cum non est remedium. Maledic ei, ut non animadverto est id quod fit, non est usque ad sero. Maledicent illi mora temporis. Maledicat illum filiali. Idoneum virum unum de creatura formam Lucifer. Maledicat illum Christus, dic nobis. Maledicent illi, et non hominem curare. Ita dicimus, ita esse necesse est._

Abruptly, the chanting cut off. There was no warning, no signal given that the room would be filled with silence, which, somehow, was even louder than the chanting could have ever even hoped to have been. The witches shuffled out, their goal seemingly completed. All but one of them had left, but the remaining one had yet to even move. Whispering, she leaned closer to him. "I'm so sorry, we didn't have a choice. He said he would torture us if we didn't do this. I didn't want to, I swear! Please, we didn't have a choice. We didn't kill those people, we didn't curse anyone, you have to believe me! It was the man. The man with the black eyes, he made us do it, and did those awful things!" She turned and left, never looking back. As she walked out, her eyes found the other brother. Dean Winchester, still crumpled on the floor, the Mark of Cain plainly visible on his forearm. Her eyes flashed black in disgust, looking at the weakling who thought he had what it takes to accurately wield the Mark.

If Dean had been able to open his eyes at this point, he would have been able to see the girl's eyes flash, and many headaches could have been avoided. However, since he was still rather unable, the demonic sign went undetected.

Sam tried to get to his brother. He tried so fucking hard to reach his brother, before finally, he reached into his jacket, grabbed a knife, and tore at the fabric of the mat he was standing on, allowing him to break the circle, and thus step away. After doing so, he rushed to his brother's side. Reaching him, he checked for a pulse. His trembling fingers searched, and after a few moments, he sighed in relief. It was weak, but it was there, and that meant there was still hope. Sam placed his arms under his brother, and in one quick move, scooped him up to carry him. He gave no thought to the witches who had been in the house just minutes before, more concerned about the state of his brother. Rushing out to the Impala, he got Dean situated, before hurrying back into the house to grab their weapons… There was serious carnage, and he didn't want to leave any evidence behind. Plus, Dean would whip his ass if he left the guns behind, they could be hard to come by – legally. He grabbed what he deemed necessary, before hurrying back outside, his hand reaching into his back pocket to get the keys.

The car started, he quickly takes off, heading back to the motel. Sam was an expert at treating wounds, and while this wasn't the simplest of injuries, he knew how to treat a concussion. Pushing the ritual he was just subjected to towards the back of his mind, Sam began to stitch Deans wounds.

* * *

Please R/R! It would be much appreciated, and honestly, it would just make my day!

 **Latin Translation (according to Google Translate):**

We curse you, Sam Winchester. We curse you to be unhuman. From this day, from this second, you shall no longer be fully human, for you shall also be those two creatures which most fully encompass who you are. We curse you to be two sides of a coin, the dark and the light. You shall, from this day, be those two creatures whom magic shall see fit to curse you with. While you were a hunter, you shall now become one of the very things that you target. Not a shapeshifter, not a werewolf, not a skinwalker, but something else. There is no control given to us over which creatures you shall be, so please, great magics, curse him with that which he will feel to be both a burden and a blessing. Curse him with the understanding, but also with no cure. Curse him to not realize what has been done, until it is too late. Curse him with a time delay. Curse him with initial fear. Make one of his creature forms suitable for our master Lucifer. Curse him, we say. Curse him, and cure not this man. So we say, so it must be.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been two days, and Dean still hasn't woken up for longer than five minutes at a time. He could never remember the previous times he'd woken, instead beginning to panic before Sam would grab his hand, smooth his hair down… He was starting to get worried. No matter how hard Sam tried to keep him awake, it only lasted for a few minutes at a time. Gradually, however, each time spent awake grew longer, and more frequent. Eventually, Sam was able to hold full conversations with him, and Dean was able to have a vague remembrance the next time he woke up. It was still a long way from being perfect, but now, at least here was proof that he was okay.

A full week later, Dean was finally up and about, back to normal. Sam had seen no side affects from the chanting, the ritual he had been subjected to by the witches, and he still could not make heads or tails of it. He knew it was a curse of some sort, he was able to gather that much from the jumbled Latin, but beyond that? He was at a loss. Pushing it out of his mind yet again, he returned to the search for possible hunts. It looked as if there was a possible Werewolf in Greenwhich, Conneticut, a simple salt and burn in southern Maryland, and what might be a poltergeist in Lubbock, Texas. Considering the fact that they were currently in New Hampshire, as well as the fact that the lunar cycle would be in the correct phase for the next three days, Sam gathered more information on the possible Werewolf in Connecticut.

The next morning, the boys set out for a relatively short drive to get to Greenwhich. Pulling into a cheap motel a few blocks from what seemed to be the hunting grounds, they got a room, paid for for three nights. Setting up in the room, they mapped out where the previous six victims had been killed, over the last two months. Coroners reports were put up, but each of the victims had the same thing in common: The hearts had been ripped out of the chests. Classic signs of a werewolf.

"I dunno Dean… This feels different. More sporadic than some of the others that we've encountered. Remember Madison? She and her wolf only went after those whom the wolf deemed to be a threat. These attacks all seem to be completely random. A tourist, a banker, a florist, and three bakers, all from different parts of town? There's no connection!"

"Come on, Sam, maybe there is and we just can't see it yet. That's how it always is with these things, isn't it?" Dean replied as he gathered the silver knives and bullets in preparation for the hunt.

"Dean, I'm looking into these peoples lives, and the only thing that even slightly connects them is the fact that they drive loud cars. They live completely separate lives, I doubt they've ever really even crossed paths with each other!" Sam looked up from his laptop, trying to figure out if the situation was worth arguing about with his brother. Apparently deciding that it wasn't, he turned back to the screen. "Seriously, they didn't even have the same auto insurance!" He couldn't resist adding one last jab.

Dean snorted, but said nothing in response.

Time skip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's dark out, and, although it is necessary for the wolf to transform, it does not help with the search. Right now, the boys are just in Baby, combing the streets, looking for signs of the supernatural. If they see the werewolf attacking somebody, obviously, they're gunna stop it (it's their job, ain't it?), but for now, they're just trying to figure out who the hell it is.

They turn a corner, parking in an alley near a Burger King. Dean runs in to get food – for the second time in three hours, and leaves Sam on the lookout in the car. Dean has been gone for almost ten minutes (seriously, how long does it take to make a burger?) when Sam finally sees him rounding the corner back into the alley. And of course, because they're Winchesters, and their luck is shitty at the best of times, the werewolf is stalking him, acting more like a trained hunter than a wild animal.

It pounces. "DEAN!"

Sam is up and out of the car before he can so much as blink, yelling at Dean to run, to duck, to GET OUT OF THE WAY! But it's to late, and he can't shoot, he'll hurt Dean, he can't hurt his brother! He's running, why is he running, he has to save him, why isn't Dean moving? He can't get there fast enough, and it isn't working, he's not gunna get there in time, he knows this, but he still has to try!

He trips over a beer bottle, catching himself on his hands, still trying to scramble forward. And suddenly, he's moving, faster than he ever remembers running. By this time, Dean has tucked and rolled, dropping his precious cargo in the process. Sam LEAPS, and he's sailing over Dean, grabbing the humanoid's neck, tearing at its throat. He's using every tool available to him at the moment, biting, clawing with stiffened fingers. The hybrid goes still under his body, and he moves, away, flinching when Dean shoots it so close to his own body.

He turns, relief causing him to go weak, so he sits on the ground in the process, meeting his brothers eyes from the ground. But there's something wrong. Even sitting, he's not this short, right? His torso hasn't shrunk since earlier in the afternoon, has it? He looks at Dean's feet, trying to figure out if maybe he's crouching down, but he's not, and Sam is still short. He brings his gaze back up to his brothers, panic in his eyes, only to be met with the barrel of the gun, smoke still floating up.

He yelps, scrambling back. "Dean?" he asks, question in his voice. Or tries to, the sound… it's not working, somethings wrong. He tries to put his hands up in the classic 'I surrender' move, but he falls forward as soon as he lifts his hands. Propping himself back up, he sees why. Paws. Big ones.

Dean lowers the gun slightly, hand going slack in shock. "Sammy?"

* * *

A/N: As a general rule, I try not to post chapters until they are at least 1,000 words long, or at least average the story out to about 1,000 words per chapter or so. It makes me sad to read short fics, so I try not to do that to y'all.

As always, please R/R, that would be amazing! I've edited a few sentences in chapter one for clarity, thanks Souless666 for pointing that out. I'm thinking about changing it from two creatures to three, solely so I can have a moose gag, but it would just be for fun, and probably wouldn't really add to the story line at all. Opinions? Lemme know?

Edit:

Changed some of the werewolf phrases/pronouns to more reflect the fact that it's a wolf-like human, not the other way around.

Additionally, pertaining to where I say its stalking Dean, I'm thinking back to the early seasons when they show the victims terror from about waist height, looking up at the victims. This sorta makes me assume that they hunt on all fours, although I may still be wrong.

A/N: I have pretty bad insomnia, I write when I can't sleep. As such, there's always bound to be some spelling errors, places where the words I use don't really make sense, or maybe I have a fact or two wrong. Point them out to me, either via comment or DM, and I'll fix it once I have time- usually when I get off work.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean knelt down, gun still in his hand, but he was eye level to Sam now. He was cautious, and rightly so. His brother had just changed forms! While he was about ninety-seven percent sure that this was indeed his brother, there was still a slight nagging feeling. What if it wasn't? What if Sammy was tied up, underground in some monster's nest?

But the creature right in front of him…. He was doing the same damn puppy eyes that his brother had perfected over years of practice. Somehow, he knew. This…. This could not possibly be…. It shouldn't…

There was no way that this was his brother, and yet, he could still read the silent panic in the creature's eyes. At this point, he knew, without a doubt that this creature, sitting on the ground in front of him, so much smaller than his kid brother, and yet a giant in its own right, was, in fact, his Sammy.

"Come on Sammy, lets just.. We'll deal with this, okay? Just like with everything else that's ever happened in our life – together. We'll figure this out, and we'll fix you. I'LL fix you, I swear." At this point, Dean wasn't sure who he was reassuring – himself, or his brother. "It doesn't matter what demon I have to hunt down, or if I have to track down fucking Lucifer myself and force it out of him. I swear, I'll get you changed back to a human, okay?" He noticed the beast flinched at the sound of the devil's name, and all further doubt was erased from his mind. Unless this monster had done some serious homework or had his brothers memories, this was definitely his brother. He dropped the gun, reaching forward and hugging the furry behemoth.

"Let's get you in the car, huh? Watch your claws, though. If you tear a hole in the seat, I'll skin you, and use your skin as replacement leather." He had a worried smile, letting the kid know that he was joking.

Dean stood up, waiting for Sam to join him on his feet, before starting to walk back to the Impala. Sam, however, had other plans. Yes, he stood, but he shook his whole body, muscles rippling under the thick, dark fur. Turning towards the dead werewolf, he began nosing in the pockets of the jeans it was wearing. Dean, paused, watching Sam. Sniffing deeply, the animal quickly found exactly what he was looking for – it smelled of plastic and leather and old paper. Gripping it gently in his teeth, Sam pulled the wallet out, shoving it into Dean's waiting hand. He kept going, trotting towards the black car, giant paws sinking into the leather once he leaped through the still open door, long tail trailing behind him.

It was a tense but short car ride back to the motel, with Dean keeping only one hand on the wheel, the other tangled in the long fur right behind Sam's head, the dead mans wallet resting between them on the seat.

They pull into the parking spot, just a few feet from the door to their hotel room. Dean looks around, seeing no one, then quietly getting out of the car, walking around to open the door for his beast of a brother. He gets Sam out, wincing slightly when he sees the indentation his claws have left on the seats. 'Honestly though,' he thinks to himself, 'I'm just glad that Sammy kept his mind, instead of going all beast mode on me. The upholstery is the least of my problems right now.'

Once inside, Dean sitting on the bed closest to the door, resting his elbows on his knees, while Sam jumps onto the other bed, turning around once before lying down, whining. Dean can hear the question in the noise. And he knows exactly what his brother is asking, too. He wants to know the identity of the guy who he had torn up, essentially killed. Dean had known since the moment his brother was poking around the body, and he had been dreading this moment. He pretends not to understand, knowing Sammy somehow feels more guilty about this than if he had just straight up pulled the trigger of a gun to end the life, instead of ripping the guys throat out.

"I know Sammy, but we'll figure this out, I promise. I know it isn't ideal, but its almost four AM, and I'm tired, my head is starting to act up a bit." He feels guilty lying, but knows that he just can't deal with the puppy eyes trying to get an answer out of him tonight. "We'll figure this out in the morning, I promise you, big brother to little brother."

Sam sighs, curling up tighter on the bed, eyeing Dean worriedly. Dean grins in a shaky realization. "This sure brings a whole new meaning to me calling you bitch, don't it Sammy?" He lays down, intent on at least pretending to fall asleep, to try to fool Sam.

Sam, on the other hand, has other ideas. He jumps off the bed, leaping onto Dean, crushing him under 120 pounds of animal. "GRRROOOF!" He leaves his mouth slightly open, just enough so Dean can feel his hot breath on his neck. Both brothers know the silent meaning behind the noise, a 'I know what you're doing, and I'll let you get away with it, but just know that it didn't fool me for a second', but somehow also, a lovingly said 'Jerk'.

"Shut up Sammy, I don't think this hotel allows dogs, especially supersized German Shepherds." Dean starts to nod off, Sammy curled up against his side, his head on Deans chest, just like they used to sleep when they were younger. "We'll figure this out in the morn…" Dean trailed off as he drifted to sleep. Sam sighed, but agreeing with his brother. Sleep sounded amazing right now, and soon, he too was drifting off.

* * *

The boys woke the next morning, mid morning light streaming through the gaps in the curtains. Both boys had slept longer than they had meant to, but each felt better rested than they had in a long time. Dean sits up, initially panicking when he sees the empty, unslept in bed of his brother, before the events of the night before come back to him. Sighing, he looks to his left, expecting to see the massive dog. He freezes, in its place, he sees his massive brother, still fully clothed in what he had been wearing the night before. "Sammy?" his voice hopeful, he reaches out, touching his brother. He shakes his shoulder, waking him up. "Sammy?"

Sam's eyes open wide, and he shoots up in bed, nearly hitting his head into Dean's in the process. Thankfully, Dean has the reflexes of, well, a hunter, and jerks back just in time. "Dean?" he pauses, hearing his own voice. "DEAN!" He grabs Dean, yanking him into a hug. "Gosh. Sorry 'bout the chick-flick moment, but gosh, that was terrifying."

Dean returns the hug for a moment or two, before pulling back. "We still need to figure out what happened. Although it turned out dead useful this time, could be deadly if it happens during a hunt again." Sam grimaces, looking away. " Sam," his voice a warning tone. " Do you have something you need to share with the group?"

Sam winces. "I think it's time to tell you what happened while you were unconscious on that last hunt..."

* * *

A/N: hey guys, please don't forget to leave a Review if you liked/loved/hated it! Feedback helps, and absolutely makes my day! I'll have another chapter posted by Sunday :)


	4. Chapter 4

"Dammit Sam! Fuckin' witches, man. Have you at least figured out some of the jumbled Latin by now?" Dean has his fingers on the bridge of his nose, clearly a bit overwhelmed.

"I mean, sorta? I've been going over it constantly in my head while you were asleep, tried writing down what I remembered, but honestly, all I could really make out was my name and three other words, transformation, two, and creatures. I think that basic gist of it was that it was a curse of transformation, but I don't really- I don't know if it meant two creatures, or two different reasons to transform, maybe I can only transform twice? I dunno, Dean." Sam looked helplessly at his older brother, silently asking him to fix it, to make the problem go away.

Dean felt a quick shot of pain in his chest. Fixing things, that was what his job was, right? Taking care of his brother, ever since he was barely four years old. It had become his life, and now? He was lost. He didn't know if he'd be able to fix this, to make it okay again. Mentally, he shook himself. Not if, when. He would fix this, he would make it okay again, if that's what Sam wanted, even if it took him the rest of his life. If there was even the slightest possibility of this, this _curse_ , being lifted – and there was, there had to be – he would find it. For Sam.

They sit in worried, yet comfortable silence for a moment. "It's okay, we got this. Just like _we_ got the Mark of Cain, how _we_ are dealing with Lucifer still – together. There is no more you, or I, only we. Got it? Good. Okay. Enough with the chick flick moments, let's head back to the Bunker, see if we can dig up any lore, any reason a demon might have for trying to curse somebody using witches. Fucking witches…." Dean trails off, shaking his head. He grabs the duffel – still packed after the stressful situation last night. "I'm gunna grab a quick shower, hope I can catch a little hot water, then we can head out. Sound good?" Sam nods, distracted. "Don't leave the room. If I find a dog in here when I come out, I wanna be able to know one hundred percent that it's you, and not some stray, got it?" His brother looks up from where he had been searching for his laptop, throws a perfect BitchFace™, then looks back down as his hand wraps around the metal device.

Sam watches out of the corner of his eye as his brother leaves, closing his eyes and sighing when he is sure that he is alone. Rubbing his face with one hand, he sighs. He opens the laptop with his other hand, thinking he'll get a head start on the research. He begins typing, only to realize he doesn't even know _what_ he's trying to research. Should he look for lore on Demon and Witch collaboration? 'Cause that's definitely a normal thing to search for,' he snorts to himself. 'but then again, when is anything in life ever normal?' Even at Stanford he had been different than his peers. More jumpy, less trusting – the freak who always had salt - all traits that had been instilled into his very soul since he was a toddler, courtesy of both his father and brother, as well as Pastor Jim and Bobby, when they had been around.

Sam had never told his brother about his time at Stanford, not really. Sure, he had talked about Jess, had told him all about the friends he had made, but he had always made it seem that he had those people in his life for the whole time that he was gone. He had played everything up, all the while covering up the truth. While he had absolutely loved the freedom, the _normal_ , he missed his brother. He missed his old life, where he actually made a difference in his every day life. He missed being able to look in the mirror at the end of the day and see a man, covered in wounds, _battle scars_ , who had been able to save a life or three. He had missed it, which is why he had left with Dean, all those years ago, despite his recurring dream about Jess dying, even though his father had practically disowned him the last time they had seen each other. He had loved Jess and the rest of his friends, the learning, the stability of staying in the same place for more than a few months at a time, but he had missed the thrill of the hunt, the knowledge that it was him and his family against the world. And in the end, in those first few weeks after Jess's death, he could think of nothing he would rather have been doing than to be hunting with his brother at his side. The cost was great, yes, but the relief at finally having Dean back had greatly offset the immense loss that he had felt in that time. **(A/N: do you guys think this is to out of character? Let me know, if it is, I'll fix it)**

He hears the shower turn off, can hear Dean moving around in the bathroom, and realizes that his intentions of getting a head start on the research is shot to hell. He puts the laptop back in its place, then changes his shirt. Soon enough, they are back on the road, heading towards the bunker to try to make heads or tails of what has happened.

* * *

They're in the car, on the road back to the bunker. Dean has songs from Queen playing, which is almost as weird as Bon Jovi. Sam keeps his head down, doesn't give any indication that he notices the music selection. Dean, being the awesome big brother that he is, took advantage of this fact as soon as he realized – which was fairly quick, even by his standards. Shuffling through his cassettes, he finds the one that he is looking for, buried deep in the collection. He pops it in, grinning to himself as he waits for the lyrics to play.

'Who let the dogs out?

Woof woof woo- '

That's as far as it gets before Sam reaches over and turns the sound off, trying to glare at Dean, but beginning to laugh despite himself. Dean laughs with him – full on belly laughing. While it honestly wasn't that funny, it had broken the tension, and allowed them to relax marginally. The Queen cassette gets popped back in, starting off with Killer Queen. Sam leans his head back on the seat, falling asleep. He is unconscious for the rest of the drive.

Arriving back at the bunker, they begin the tedious task of research. Research had never really been Dean's forte, and he opts to investigate the history of the town they had been in when this all started. After three hours of digging through news articles and journal references dating back to the 1870's, he finally hit gold. "Sam! Get over here!"

Sam jumps up, walking over to the small table that Dean had set up on. "What is it? Did you find a miracle 'Seven demons who have possessed our neighbors, and the witches that they forced to help them' article?"

Dean just looks at him, rolling his eyes. "No, but I did discover that there was a rash of serial robberies about three months ago, prompting almost three quarters of the residents to get video surveillance cameras – complete with sound – in an attempt to dissuade the thieves. The neighborhood where our friends the witches lived – right in the center of all the break ins. The likelihood of them having cameras is at about ninety percent. Wanna drive back down, pull the life insurance card, and get access to the footage? We would be able to hear the incantation, get an actual translation."

"I could hug you right now. Let's go!" Sam looks as if he is bairly managing to keep himself from jumping up and down in his joy.

"Hey now. Its almost eleven o'clock at night, and I want to sleep in my own bed for at least one night before we go back to the crappy hotel beds! We'll leave in the morning."

Sam didn't like it, but he agreed. They left all the research materials out on the table, and both went straight to bed.

* * *

A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the delay. I didn't get home from work till almost four AM, and I decided I needed to sleep instead of finish this chapter right away. Hope y'all enjoy, and please, leave a Review and lemme know how you felt!

Either next chapter or the one after will reveal the second creature Sam can transform into. Any guesses? (I've already decided, this is just for entertainment purposes ;) )

Have a nice day!


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